Newcomer
by Oven-Mitt Troll
Summary: You move in to a place called Akatsuka, so you could work at a small animation studio the next town over. The planets seemed to align in order for you have this job, so you should probably avoid getting into any shenanigans during your stay in Japan. (A Second-person narrative)
1. Chapter 1: Much Ado About N'oden

Bundled in a thick charcoal grey wool jacket and face shielded behind a red muffler, you pull down the bill of your newsboy cap as another blast of winter air jets through the city streets. Flakes of snow cling to fabric and to whatever strands of hair that isn't tucked away. You continue to briskly step around the evening traffic, the clicking of your boots' heals joining the shuffle of other pedestrians. You notice that the edges of the sidewalk are frosted in a light coating of snow, as you try to avoid stumbling into a couple who just stepped out the adjacent shop. Your head bobs down and hurried apologies fall from your lips. Pivoting and walking double time down the street to further distance yourself from your near collision, your hands clutch at your computer bag to keep it from swinging wildly into someone else. The crowd around you thins out a bit when you exit the small plaza of stores and finally allow yourself to relax again.

The street begins to incline and you inwardly sigh as your legs burn in reminder of the hill you had this morning jovially trotted down. A buss stop sign stands tauntingly near the hill's crest. You couldn't get an apartment in the residential district closest to the studio, so you had to settle for the one a few towns over. For now you were stuck waiting for the buss under the glow of a street light with a handful of other people, which according to the timetable you printed out this morning, would be coming in the next six minutes or so. You entertain the idea of killing time by checking again for any available housing in the area on your phone, as if by chance someone had moved out while you were going over the design drafts with your department's head all day.

You were coming into the project midway through the first quarter of the year of an estimated three to four year development cycle, the later being the max your work visa would allow before you would have to renew it. And while you were ninety percent sure you were not going to be applying for a permanent residency in Japan just yet, closer living quarters to the studio would still make days like this a little easier to bear.

Sure, what you do could easily be done from your apartment with a steady wifi connection, but you don't want to contribute to the stereotype of the lackadaisical American while everyone else is putting their nose to the grind in a cubicle on-site.

The hum of an engine and groaning of breaks snaps you out of your reverie, and you instinctively dig through your coat pocket for your buss pass. After double checking the buss number on your sheet, you wait for the locals to embark before you do. One graying man notices you and politely gestures for you to step up before he does. You awkwardly bow and try to say your thanks in what you hope is clear enough pronunciation. Once on the buss you tap your pass on the scanner and scoot towards the back. Enough seats are available that you don't feel guilty for taking one yourself, clutching your computer bag to your chest like a life preserver. Hopefully with time you will loosen up on these return trips, but for now you just have to deal with commuter anxiety.

The engine roars and break gears hiss as the buss winds around the hill before threading back into a major road.

Your finger tips thaw from the chill thanks to the combined heat of the buss itself and press of bodies as more people climb on at the next stop. It's going to be an estimated twenty to forty minute ride, depending on the traffic, so you unzip the outside pocket of your bag for your ear buds and mp3 player. A soothing beat of a neo-jazz band you discovered on an airline playlist during one of your long international flights helps you to lean back in your seat as the buss rolled on, rocking slightly with every stop it made. You self-consciously resisted the urge to tap your foot in time with the bass drum, not needing to feel the extra weight of curious stares.

The edges of your eyes prick with tears and you quickly draw your muffler further up your face to obscure a large yawn that bubbles up, a toll from your body still adjusting to a vastly different time table. Also, sitting in front of a computer screen for most of the day isn't helping you stay awake. You push up your glasses to rub the bridge between you eyes before ducking behind your computer bag as another yawn silently rips your mouth open again. Okay, maybe smooth jazz wasn't the best thing to play right now.

You scroll over onto a playlist of pop songs and upbeat videogame music for the duration of you trip as you stare out the window. The streets you passed this morning are nearly unrecognizable while lit up at night. You plug in your apartment's address into Google Maps to assure yourself that you are indeed on the right bus's route even though you've already checked and double checked when you got on. And yes, the shrinking blue line confirms that you are slowly nearing where you need to get off, the continuing dotted line indicating you will need to continue your journey on foot.

As you put down your phone you notice the snow outside is starting to fall in denser amounts. Christmas had already past weeks ago, but that fact does not prevent the weather from turning the city white anyways.

Coincidently the happy jingle of a winter level theme begins to play as you disembark.

You were back in the middle of a bustling weekday evening as people went in and out of the various shops and restaurants around you, many with umbrellas shielding them from the snow. Part of you was torn between finding a café to duck into and buying something warm to eat and drink, or just avoid the trouble of standing in line until you can stutter out your request while others wait on you to piece together a coherent sentence.

…

You choose to go back to the apartment and settle for Cup Noodles. Cup Noodles can't judge you for your vocabulary or lack thereof.

As you weave through the crowds you keep your eyes peeled for the landmarks that clued you in to your current location, not wanting to keep your nose buried in your phone. You passed a convenience store, a public bathhouse, and a couple brightly lit up and active gambling halls. Soon enough, you came up to the river that you have a view of from your apartment.

The river was shallow, partly frozen, and seemed to divide the residency in half with one side looking more modern while the other still had some older more traditional looking houses sprinkled along with some newer sleeker looking structures, and some buildings that just looked outright odd. Like that out of place looking… was it a pharmacy? Lab? You couldn't really tell.

You remember looking at older images of this area while you were scoping out for open apartments. It's amazing, and a little sad in a way, how different a neighborhood could change over the course of twenty odd years. The dated photos of a quiet suburban town had barely any resemblance to the streets you currently walked.

Your mind went back to your own hometown and how it changed over the years: some ways small, some big. You did come from one of the more densely populated cities in your state, so this urban atmosphere didn't bother you as much as it might have for others.

A voice from over the river caught your attention.

A small food cart stood illuminated near the bridge down by the riverside opposite from where you were walking. You could faintly make out the steam radiating from the stand's contents. The attendant was singing a song you could barely make out as a sales pitch for their food, or maybe they were just praising their skill out loud not caring who heard. You had to give them credit for dedication in spite of the weather conditions. Most people will probably be opting for indoor dining tonight regardless, but…

That does mean that there will be no lines to hold up.

And your curiosity and hunger are bolstering you to investigate.

Tentatively you cross the bridge, keeping an eye out for anyone that might show up out of the blue. Instead it remains quiet aside from the crunching of snow under your boots. A short man, that has such a baby face and youthful tone of voice that you can't really tell how old he is just by observation alone (but you assume old enough to run a food cart) waves you over to sit down as you approach the riverside he set shop on.

"Hurry up and sit down, a bowl of my oden will do you wonders on a cold night like this!" The cook says as he retrieves sets of plates and glasses behind the wagon. He is dressed in a thick brown coat and a navy blue knit cap with matching scarf and fingerless mittens.

"Thank you very much, sir" you hurriedly breathe out before sitting across from him, thankfully the awning above is keeping out most of the snow. As you lean forward to inspect the spread you are struck with the smell of the variety of foodstuffs stewing in simmering broth. You swallow thickly behind your muffler, stomach growling in anticipation.

"Eh?" He passes you a plate, bowl, utensils, and a skewer with a smirk, "No need to be so formal in this weather. Go on, help yourself, _barou_."

You nod your head, not quite able to decipher what he called you, but from his smirk and overall friendly demeanor you assume its some kind of slang to get you to loosen up. You remove your ear buds and stuff them into your pocket just as a shopkeeper's theme started to play. Shrugging off your bag, you lay it between the cart and your seat. All the while, you are trying to remember how exactly are you supposed to eat oden?

You binge-watched on Japanese travel vlogs during the weeks leading up to your flight and you remember oden being the topic of one of them. You vaguely remember that it's supposed to be some kind of kebab…? There was even a diagram involved that showed how the end product was supposed to look like.

You assemble what you hope was the correct combination of food into a wonky arrow shape. You are so concentrated on your task that you missed the cook's bemused expression until your eyes flick over to him to glean a hint on whether or not you were doing it right.

"Is this…" your vision darts between the skewered oden and the chef, "correct?"

"The hell- _barou_ -damn it!?" The small man leans in on his likewise small hands, to scrutinize you, "What? Is this the first time you've ever had oden?"

"…Yes." You reply owlishly with a nod.

"EEEHHH?!"

You are then treated to the most in-depth exposition of oden and all of its elements that you could ever hope to experience…

….

You also probably just had one of the best meals you could ever hope to get from a street cart during a snowfall.

 **End Chapter 1**


	2. Chapter 2: You Ow'den Me Nothin'

"Silva-san," Your boss Toshiro was standing by your work station, which was a tightly packed twelve by eight foot cubicle. "How well are you adjusting to life in Japan?"

You swiveled around in your chair to face him and offer a slight smile and nod.

"Well enough, I still need time to get used to…" you trail a bit trying to think of the right phrase, "different climate?…No uh.. That doesn't sound right."

"Atmosphere?" Toshiro offers with a patient smile.

"Y-yes." You fidget in your seat as you try to elaborate without making random gestures. As if waving your hands around would help you explain yourself better in a foreign language. "City life is normal for me, but the language barrier and the…methods of the locals, make it hard for me to catch on." You jerk yourself to sit straight, "But I am really enjoying my stay here! Japan is an amazing country, even though I've only been in the cities so far… I'm excited for new experiences."

Toshiro chuckles and replies in English, **"I think I understand what you're trying to say. I can tell your working very hard here in the studio and outside to adapt to your new environment. But don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it."**

Your shoulders relax and you smile genuinely.

 **"Thank you sir, I'll remember that."**

…

Toshiro-san was not the only person who made it a point to make you feel welcome. A group of other animators in your department who knew English fairly well would invite you out to lunch at the local cafés and restaurants near the studio. Two of them even studied in the US, while another studied in Europe, so they would take some time after the meal to drill you in how to respond to the most common situations you might find yourself in during your stay.

You picked up on how to call the waiter to order food and receive the check, and were reminded that you would need to bring your own shopping bags to the grocers. How public transport worked, and what lines go to where. The stuff that you knew somewhat about before you came here, but also stuff you didn't: like going to a local clinic vs. going to a hospital when and if you get sick.

They even told you what to do if any of your things get stolen, and what to do if you see or are victim to sexual harassment in a public space.

One of the women who studied abroad, Keiko, even offered to take you to one of the shopping districts she frequents during the upcoming weekend so you can buy basic amenities that you couldn't bring in your luggage. You are really thankful that she's going out of her way for you like this, and even more relived to know that you will both be using her car to avoid having to lug boxes of cookware and other miscellaneous appliances on the train or buss.

As the end of the week nears you feel as though you can say that you've settled in to a routine.

…

"Good afternoon, Chibita-san." You shrug your bag off your shoulder before taking the same seat as last time.

"Eh? You again idjit?" The little oden man passed you a plate, "You only going to show up when it snows, like some sort of foreign _yuki-anesa_?" You catch onto the comparison he made between you and a " _snow sis_ " rather quickly, thanks to the spread of anime and video games referencing Japanese folklore. In the meantime, you apply what you've learned from last time and start assembling food on your skewer like a pro.

"I can't help it, your oden is my only salvation against the snow, oden master Chibita-sama." You smile from behind your konnyaku. There may have been and earlier session of Japanese practice spent just so you could say that to him for the next time you came, and the redness of his blushing face was certainly worth the effort.

"The hell idjit! You can't just say stuff like that out of the blue." He muttered something about "improper foreigners" under his breath you couldn't quite make out. But otherwise he seams pleased with your statement.

You hold back a laugh at his expense and say your thanks for the meal before chowing down. The warmth of the oden really does feel like its seeping into your bones, partly from the heat of the food you're eating and by just being in the radius of the food cart. You order a second helping, not quite ready to leave the glow of the oden stand just yet. The silence between you is filled with small talk that was absent from your previous meeting and compulsory oden lecture.

You told Chibita what brought you to Japan: that your college professor reached out to you two years after graduation with an opportunity to work under a former colleague of his in a start-up studio. The possibility of landing a job was one thing, the possibility of landing a job where you could immerse yourself in a culture that you have always wanted to better understand and experience yourself, was another. Of course you could only impart the basic gist of what you meant to say to him thanks to your still tenuous grasp on the language.

At the mention that you're an artist the chef insisted that he see some of your work. You fish your travel sketchbook out of your bag and hand it over for him to inspect, while you queue up your reel on your smart phone. You've only done some small freelance jobs the first few years after you got your degree, but you put all your heart into your passion projects you kept yourself busy with to try and improve.

Chibita's not even halfway done with your sketchbook, and you feel your own face begin to heat up as he carefully looks at each page stopping to comment on particular drawings, that you in your habitual sketching tend to forget about as you continue to improve your work.

You can already tell Chibita is the kind of man who can see and appreciate the effort behind all crafts, his being oden while yours is drawing. Suddenly you begin to feel self-conscious about how you're practically chomping at the bit to show off to a stranger. But before you could put your phone away he is demanding to see more of your work, as if he caught on to your hesitation. You are now one hundred percent sure your face is now beet red while you hear the soundtrack of your reel play.

"There is still a lot I need to learn," you can't help but say, "compared to others I'm just an amateur." Chibita hands you your phone and the look in his eyes is intense.

"If that was just amateur work, than you must be… the master of amateurs!"

…If you were standing just then you probably would have stumbled back as if you've just been shot through the heart, and he's to blame… You may also have just made it a point to visit this oden cart for as many times as you possibly can within your budget.

"Chibita-san... **you're killing me."** You exasperate in English and he barks out a laugh, while you dramatically clutch a hand to your chest.

With your phone and sketchbook safely tucked away you pull out your wallet next but Chibita raises his hand, "No need to worry tonight."

" **What?!** Er…wait, really?"

"Yup, you shared with me your heart's work and I shared with you mine," he waves to your empty bowl, " **Fair trade.** "

You swear that you were just pierced through the heart again by an oden shaped arrow. Chibita laughs once more at your dazed expression of gratitude.

When you get up to leave you bow at least three times before slinging your bag over your shoulder as you walk away waving and saying more "thank yous" and "goodnights." All the way home, the warmth of the oden stand stayed with you.

 **End Chapter 2**


	3. Chapter 3: Lonely N'oden More

Thankfully most of the snow on the road was melted by the weekend thanks to a sudden bout of warm weather, so driving to and from the mall should not be too much of a hassle. On Friday you and Keiko agreed to meet up for a late breakfast at a French café she gave you directions to. It wasn't too far from the public garage where she normally parked her car for work.

You munched on a half of granola bar (so you wouldn't be hungry on the buss ride to the stop nearest the café) as you went over your shopping list, highlighting the stuff you needed the most. You also marked an estimated amount for everything you were intending to buy on the top of the list after going through a few of the online catalogs of the stores that Keiko informed you would be visiting.

You were serious about keeping a budget, and are not about to splurge on the high end stuff when you're only planning to stay for a few years. Although you might cave in if you happen to see a really nice pasta pot on sale.

Halfway from the buss stop to the café you heard your smart phone's message app go off. You lean against a nearby pole, out of the way of nearby foot traffic, and bring up a message from Keiko.

"Marti," You told her it was okay to call you by your nickname, since Martha is a bit of a pain to say, "I ran into a friend of mine at the café, would it be alright for her to tag along?" You were a little thrown off by this sudden inclusion at the last minute and were a little nervous that this new addition might drag out the shopping trip. But you solemnly acknowledge that the widely accepted social conventions must ultimately color all your decisions.

"Sure, she can come along. I'll be there in a few minutes," You reply back.

It was a short distance to walk, and you could see Keiko chatting with someone by one of the window seats looking on to the street. You give a friendly wave and smile to both of them as you pass to enter the building.

"Marti-chan, we saved you a seat for when you've finished ordering." Keiko calls as you come in.

"Thank you." You nod in reply before getting in line to order.

The walls are painted in a warm rosy pink with black and brown accents, decorated with pictures of French landmarks everywhere. You order two pastries and a medium coffee with cream from the friendly staff, (you are able to get away with using some English when ordering certain foods you've noticed,) and carry your tray back to the front where Keiko is sitting with her friend.

It looks like they just got here a little bit before you did since they barely touched their own orders.

"Rina-chan this is Martha D'Silva, she's working in my department for our current project. Marti-chan, this is my old friend Yamada Rina."

"It's nice to meet you, Yamada-san" You nod politely before setting your tray down at the bench.

"It's nice to meet you too, D'Silva-san"

"It's okay to call me 'Silva' or 'Marti' Yamada-san," You say from over Keiko's shoulder, "everyone else at the studio does."

"Really, I have to pick?" Rina mock laments, "Hmm, well Silva-san sounds very cool, but Marti-san sounds much cuter."

"Rina, Marti-chan may always have a serious face behind her glasses, but she is actually very cute." Keiko said with a wink.

"Serious face?" you furrow your eyebrows and push your glasses further up the bridge of your nose at that comment while Keiko nudges her friend with a knowing look.

Wait a second…

"C-Cute?"

You couldn't help but walk into that clichéd stutter. It's almost as if your life was written as an anime script, or some mediocre fan-fiction for one.

"Yes, yes," Keiko giggled at your expression, "I've seen your portfolio and your style is so cute and full of energy, even when you draw monsters and scary things."

"Really…? I don't really notice when I'm focused on drawing." You enjoy praise as much as the next person, but you remember one of those instructional videos about Japanese culture strongly advising you to downplay complements. And since Keiko is your coworker you want to remain professional even outside of the workplace.

Besides, there were plenty of other people at the studio who had portfolios that were twice as impressive as yours.

The conversation dissolves into basic meet and great topics. Rina apparently works at her family's hair salon and she gives you a card in case you need a haircut during your stay in Japan, which you thank her for. You take the chance to eat and drink when Keiko and Rina pause to discuss some things between themselves.

It was a few minutes after ten by the time everyone was ready to head into Keiko's car.

…

By the end of the day you were exhausted but happy with how relatively smoothly everything went. You didn't get a pasta pot, but you did get a nicely priced steel pot and a cheep pasta strainer to go with it, along with a rice cooker, a grill, and a small array of other appliances and gadgets, most of which you were able to get for a bargain from a local thrift store.

You let out a sigh as you sprawl out on the futon couch and pull out your phone to check the time. It was only 5:13 PM. Keiko and Rina left about a half hour ago after you invited them to stay for some tea and snacks. Because there was no way you were not going to offer at least some hospitality after they helped you carry shopping bags up two flights of stairs. In the end Rina tagging along made it so all it took was one trip to get all your stuff out of the car and into the kitchen area of your economically sized apartment space.

Keiko commented on your _'Shovel Knight'_ poster while you were all sitting at the table across from the kitchen area (you brought some videogame and movie posters from home to decorate the walls) saying how she was excited to download the recent localization of it from the Nintendo Store. You slipped into English a couple times while talking excitedly about video games with Keiko, but thankfully Rina either knew enough English to follow the conversation or was already tuned out when Keiko brought up the topic. Keiko promised to take you on a daytrip to Akihabara sometime in the future when the weather gets nicer, to get you some more stuff to hang on the walls and decorate your desk at work.

You liked Keiko, she reminded you of a few of your more extraverted chums from Art College. Rina also seemed like a swell person, if a bit more reserved than her longtime friend.

So far, almost everyone you have met in Japan has been pleasant with you.

Hell, even the apartment's landlord was a nice guy. Apparently, this area sees a lot of University students coming in and out, occasionally with a student from abroad, so he was able to help you set up shop rather quickly and with little hassle.

You wonder briefly, if you should be worried that your luck would soon run out. If this was all just a fluke and you would someday soon be thrust into the most awkward, uncomfortable, and most unpleasant social situations of your life. Situations that you will have little power to prevent, avert, or alleviate.

…...

Bah, who were you kidding? Any offence you make will most likely be one of ignorance and any offence you receive will probably fly over your head because of lingual and cultural differences. So long as nobody gets maimed in the process, you're prepared to just grit your teeth and go on with your life.

You check the time again before laying your phone on the couch arm and roll over, considering your dinner options.

Tomorrow you are going to need to buy groceries so you can start cooking for yourself again. Another night of instant ramen was an option. Or, if you felt like going out and spending money again, go to the oden cart. The weather was nice enough for eating outside tonight. You could actually talk with Chibita without feeling soggy from the melted snow clinging to you this time.

I mean… it would be a shame for an opportunity like that to go to waste during the winter right? And technically you had some spare spending cash from when Chibita forwent your tab…

…

" **Let~s go~ to~ Chi-bi-ta's~ Od~En Stand~!** " You sing under your breath and did a half skip/half shuffle as you go up the street to where you last saw Chibita parked. No one was around to watch your small performance, aside from a stray cat that dashed across the street as you pass by.

Your jaunty walk smoothes out as you hear fragments of conversation in the distance. Your hand shoots up to pull down your cap's bill reflexively, before you scan the area for anyone who might have seen you. No one seems to be on either side of the walkway by the river. However, you do catch sight of Chibita's set up in the distance a little further up than usual. Tonight he's parked his cart near a playground, and there looks to be a small party of people occupying the bench in front of his cart talking loudly amongst themselves.

You are glad that Chibita gets more business besides you on snowy days, but you are not about to insert yourself into that. Nope, you are going to just sit here on this public bench a few yards away and sketch under the streetlight until the crowd disperses.

Minutes tick away as you sketch out a few things in the studio's style as extra practice; you even draw a little smirking Chibita with his arms folded in the corner of the paper. An idea pops into your head and you turn to a fresh page to start an environmental sketch of the oden cart itself. It might be a trick of the light, but you swear that almost all of the customers have the same haircut and hooded sweatshirt.

You are just about to add the finishing touches by writing the kanji inscribed on the signs and paper lanterns when the sound of running and shouting catches your attention. A multicolored flash of six bodies bolt past you-oh! You were right… they all did have the same hair cut. Maybe it was some kind of fraternity thing; do they have those in Japan?

Your musings are cut short when you hear Chibita cry out after them. It looks like he tripped in pursuit.

"Chibita-san, are you okay?" You jog over to his side and offer a hand as the short bald chef gets up.

"I'll be fine when those idjits pay their damn tab!" Chibita scowls at the ground and grips your hand a little tighter before his eyes land on your face, as if he just realized you were there. You offer a sympathetic smile and Chibita jumps back as if your touch was like scalding water, face aflame with embarrassment.

"Oi, how long where you loitering around here, Marti-san?" He brushes bits of sand and gravel off his apron, sending one last futile grimace in the direction of six ditchers. You stick your thumb over your shoulder to where you were sitting.

"Just over there, drawing. It looked busy… so I waited." You were a bit ashamed that you couldn't help the situation in any way. Maybe if you did establish your presence earlier, it could have discouraged the group from leaving without paying the bill?

"Hey now, don't ever feel like you have to wait on those idiots for anything," Chibita waves for you to come follow him back to the cart. "I've got reserved seating for paying customers." You move to help clean up the mess left behind but he gives you the stink-eye until you sit down and he takes care of everything instead.

The oden stand is quiet now, aside from the simmering of food and the clatter of plates as Chibita cleans up, still looking like the wind was knocked out of his sails. You suddenly are struck with an idea of how to cheer him up and discreetly pull out your sketchbook to finish your picture. As you lean back a little to read the lanterns, you catch sight of a sizeable note that seems to be keeping track of a steadily increasing number.

"Ah? So you noticed it huh?"

You snap to attention and quickly flip over your sketch book on you lap so Chibita doesn't see your drawing before it's done.

"It's the tab of those…" Chibita uses a word you have never heard used before. You slowly repeat the word as a question, and the small chef remembers that your vocabulary wasn't as broad as his. "Uh, **twins** … but six of them?" He offers back.

…

" **SEXTUPLETS?!** " Chibita is nearly blown back by your outburst and you clamp your hands over your mouth and a muffled " _sumimasen…_ " weakly slips out. So it was a fraternity, but in the more literal fashion seeing that they were all brothers. "Sextuplets..." you try the word again in Japanese at a normal volume.

"Don't get too impressed, that's their only gimmick besides being NEETs" Chibita scoffs before bringing his hand to cup the side of his mouth and begins to slowly annunciate, "A NEET is-"

"I know what NEET means Chibita-san." You cut him off. You must have also made a face because Chibita chuckles before handing you a clean plate.

"Alright, alright. Dig in, idjit."

You clap your hands together, "Thank you for the meal!"

You take your time to savor the oden and the conversations with Chibita like you intended. The topic tonight was focused on his business and history with the six brothers. Apparently they were long time friends and adversaries that grew up together. A piece of daikon radish nearly fell out of your mouth when Chibita let slip that he grew up alone with no family during one of his anecdotes. He came to a full stop when he realized his unintended confession and quickly tried to back peddle.

"I didn't grow up completely alone! I-I had Iyami-san look out for me, ha-ha see? Totally fine..."

"The con-artist?"

"Ah… I mentioned that part about him… didn't I?"

"Chibita-san…" you trail off and Chibita flinches back, eyes downcast, as if you were going to judge him harshly for something. "You really are a… **self made man**." You tell him hopping the phrase is well known enough in Japan.

Apparently it means something, because Chibita's flat on his back in shock.

"The hell?!" Chibita lets out a strangled cry, "The hell-the hell-the hell?!" he slams a hand on the counter as he hoists himself upright. "You can't keep doing that; you can't say such nice things out of the blue, idjit!"

"Chibita is amazing!" He doubles over like you just stabbed him in the gut.

"Chibita runs his own business, and makes the best oden in the world!" You can't help but grin as Chibita rights himself again, not fully looking at you.

"That part I can accept." He's going to set the back of his head on fire at the rate he keeps rubbing it.

You snort out a laugh and barely catch a smile from Chibita before he admonishes you for letting your food get cold. After finishing your meal, you pull out your wallet, insisting that you won't be added to his tab list.

Just as you get up to leave you snap your fingers, remembering one last thing you need to do. You step back and pull out your sketchbook again. Chibita seems thrown off by your sudden urge to draw but his eyes go wide as you hand him the sheet of paper after carefully removing it by the perforated edges.

"My oden stand…" He looks up at you from behind the paper with wide eyed thanks, and you can't help but smile in return.

"Please keep doing your best, Chibita-san."

 **[End Chapter 3]**


	4. Chapter 4: A Little Off-Base

The thaw of spring has started to settle in Japan, and while there's still a few more weeks from the official spring equinox you intend to fully take advantage of the current window of temperate weather. You were warned ahead of time of the future humidity, which is why you brought a variety of hats, hair clips, and ties with you. The thick hair that you inherited from your Galician ancestors tended to frizz instead of curl.

Today you left the apartment in a hand-me-down suede jacket and baseball cap on top of your usual work attire. Baseball caps you tended to wear more often for days you knew ahead of time that you would be with a group in a largely populated area. Need to find your lost gaijin in a sea of people? Spot the cap.

Also, picking a striped sweater to wear might have weighed your decision on donning a cap today.

And while you thought you were being low key about it, your choice of attire didn't go unnoticed during work, because there was a Ness Amiibo sitting on your desk when you came back from lunch. A sticky note was left attached to it as a calling card. You peer over the dividers to narrow your eyes at Keiko's cubicle where her and a few of the other female animators you hung out with normally where hiding. They were clearly anticipating this, because the moment you spotted them they burst into a fit of hushed giggles. You retaliate by slowly cocking your cap's bill to the side to match Ness before sinking behind your workstation.

You write a memo to yourself to get Keiko a return gift next time you are at a shop that sells figurines.

…

It is nice to be able to see the sun still out while going back to the apartment from work. There will probably be days in the future where you and the team will have to pull all nighters to meet a deadline. But for now, you plan on enjoying these fleeting rays of sunlight by exploring more of the neighborhood. Your wandering's take you through a park that will probably look stunning in the coming months of spring.

You take off your league cap to comb through your short wavy locks as you lean against a bridge's rail, out of the way of the other park goers. The warm breeze feels nice after being in an office all day, and the view of the scenery from the bridge was great. Part of you wants to take out your sketchbook, but the rest of you just wants to just soak in the moment. You can't help but let out a low contented hum as you rest your chin on one hand and gingerly grip the bill of your hat in the other. This position, however comfortable, does not last too long. The glare of the sunset off the water is starting to sting your eyes.

You turn around, blinking away spots and adjusting your glasses, before you smooth your hair to fit under your cap. Midway through lowering your hands to your sides you felt a pair of eyes on you. Two young women standing a few feet away flinch in embarrassment for being caught starring at the foreigner sharing the bridge with them. You try to wordlessly signal that you took no offence by smiling and quickly waving before walking off in the opposite direction.

Usually when everyone is busy with their own business, people tend to ignore you as tourism in Japan is pretty common nowadays. But you suppose that seeing someone clearly not from around here just chill on a bridge is interesting enough for the locals.

…

The sun was now slowly sinking behind the rooftops of houses as you walk home, hands in your jacket pockets. Besides the rushing of water of the nearby river and your own footsteps, it was quiet. No one else seems to be around.

But then you hear…something, something that sounds like a chant being shouted over and over from far away… in English? You strain your ears and tilt your head around any corners you pass by, walking slowly as you try and pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

" **Hustle! Hustle!...Muscle! Muscle!...** " The thickly accented cheer echoes from a distance, steadily increasing in volume as the street progressively gets darker. Okay, now you're curious **_and_** a little freaked out.

" **Muscle! Muscle!...Hustle! Hustle!** "

Being so preoccupied by trying to locate the voice's location you stumble over a jut in the sidewalk. Thankfully, you are able to steady yourself enough so you don't hit the ground. But the weight of your computer bag and your forward momentum makes you walk right into a nearby telephone pole.

You stagger back, dazed, hat knocked off and glasses askew. You take a second to check if your glasses got scratched but can't really tell in the dusky light. Turning around to snatch your home team's hat off the ground, you feel utterly embarrassed at your lapse in perception.

" **Hustle! Hustle!...Muscle! Muscle!** "

Speaking of which…as you lightly beat your cap against your legs to shake off any dirt that might have caught on the fabric; you fail to notice the source of the voice drawing closer. Satisfied with the cleanup, you once more affix your baseball cap on your head, and as if on cue the above streetlight flick on.

Ironically it's the sudden hush over the neighborhood that catches your attention.

Standing just a stones throw away, clad in a sunny yellow uniform, one hand raised in mid cheer and one foot raised in mid march, carrying a weighted bat over the shoulder, and face frozen in the widest open mouthed grin you ever saw on another person…is what looks to be a local baseball player.

The faint hum of the fluorescent light above, reminds you that no, time didn't just stop, and the both of you were just standing in the same spot quietly looking at each other for the past minute.

Slowly, very slowly, you release the bill of your cap and lower your hand, slipping it in the fold of your jacket pocket to mirror the other. The baseball player doesn't move, he doesn't even blink, but you think you see a slight twitch of his eyes as he continues to stare unabashedly… Okay…?

You are honestly at a lost at what to do next, the situation is so surreal. Part of you, driven by a twisted curiosity, wants to see how long this guy can hold it. Another part, which you can only describe as a fraction of your survival instincts muddled by superstition and pop culture, goads you to make a mad dash for the apartment while keeping an eye on this figure as it might be the Japanese equivalent to a weeping angel fused with Babe Ruth.

Rationality won out, thank goodness, and you settle on just awkwardly nodding to the strange man before turning around and continuing on your way. You can only get a few feet of extra space between the two of you before you faintly catch him try to say something.

"...Mmm…a….Muah…..MA-!" You hear a sharp intake of breath before you are nearly bowled over by the sheer force of this man's shout.

" **MAJOR LEAUGE ALL-STAR!** "

?!

Oh Dear….

Oh No….

Oh Lord…

Please tell me he wasn't referring to you in that declaration. And did he just trigger a car alarm a block away with just his voice?! You can't believe you are living out that one terrible commercial for MLB merch, the one where you get mistaken for an actual baseball player just for wearing a hat in another country. IT WAS SUCH A DUMB AD, WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!

No…it's okay. Just turn around and tell him your not a-

 **-Tink!-**

 _-Thwip-_

A few yards away the yellow baseball player stood poised post-swing, wide grin still plastered across his face and eyes partially obscured by his own cap's bill. Did he just…hit a ball? But then where-?

A trail of steam leads your eyes down to a catcher's mitt… that somehow was on your hand. It wasn't there before. H-How?

You turn the offending mitt in your hand over and peer down, and lo and behold, there was the ball, heat searing off it like it was a fresh bread roll. Reflexively, you push up your glasses as they slid down your nose from the vibrations of your nervous shaking. It is the sound and feeling of heavy breathing a few inches away that breaks your preoccupation with the ball. At the sudden breach of personal space, you make a pathetic noise between a squeal and a whimper. Ducking your head under your arms, you knock off your hat yet again and drop the mitt in the process.

"Ah, the ball!" the man cries as you watch the ball bounce and roll away from your hunched over position. You can hear his footsteps as rushes to retrieve it. If there was any chance to gather your wits and run for it, now would be the time. But you don't, you feel too tired and stressed out to even try. Everything going on right now was unexpected and unwarranted. You weren't asking for trouble when you decided to wear your baseball hat today. You just wanted to go home.

At the thought of 'home' something inside you snapped like a rubber band pulled too tightly.

What were you even doing here in a foreign country, getting harassed by a strange man to play baseball? You've never even played baseball, and you're just a casual fan. How do you even expect to fit in? Everyone at work probably sees you as a novelty, a distraction, not as a peer. You're going to end up holding the team back when you eventually can't keep up.

Unbidden tears well up in your eyes and you choke back a sob, wanting to retain some dignity even if it was in front of the weird athlete. You hurriedly take of your glasses to wipe your eyes on your sleeves so your tears don't leave smudges on the lenses. You look up to see the blurred figure of the baseball player standing a ways away, starring, you assume.

Fumbling with your glasses, you rush to put them back on. The gapping smile still hasn't left his face, although it lessened in intensity. His eyes however, betrayed his true emotions: a mix of loss and panic, it was like you could see the gears turning in his head and he was finally gaining self awareness of his actions-

"Ah…a women."

…

…That's what he realizes first? Really?! And because you were caught crying, too?!

Sure, you weren't dressed very feminine today and your build was hidden beneath the thick folds of your suede jacket, but you were wearing your dressiest pair of jeans! You pinch the bridge of your nose and hang your head in defeat. Yeah, you suppose that's not really enough to go on in low lighting.

The ball player must have misinterpreted your action as the start of another round of crying because he is now flitting about you, arms wiggling in the air probably too afraid to touch you, repeating "Sorry! Sorry!" and "Please, don't cry!" You want to roll your eyes at this point, but you're too exhausted to even do that.

"My sincerest apologies, please forgive me!"

Struck by the extreme formality of it, you lift your head to see him folded over in a bow with your hat extended out to you as a peace offering. You stand up straight and look around to see if anyone is watching this over the top display. Despite the ruckus you two caused, you both were still the only ones in the area. Maybe people know ahead of time to give this guy a wide birth?

That…that actually would be very sad if true. He clearly didn't mean any harm, he was just…enthusiastic. Somebody with a true love for the game.

You take the hat, not wanting to leave the poor guy hanging any longer.

"Thank you," is all you can think to say.

He slowly stands straight, hands still at his sides and eyes remaining downcast. The smile has completely left, and while its absence makes him look like a normal human being, it feels wrong on a fundamental level.

You wish you had a deeper grasp on the language, so you can explain in detail that you took no offence, that you were just caught off guard, and that you don't hold any ill will towards him. Instead, you are just stuck staring at him as you both stand there feeling guilty. He's probably waiting for you to leave first since you were both heading in the same direction…

But you don't feel right just leaving things as they are.

Your eyes land on your hat, the source of this mess, and before the idea fully takes shape in your mind, you impulsively step forward.

The element of surprise works in your favor, because he barely has any time to react before the deed has already been done and his hat is in your hand and yours is on his head. You step back and survey your work. His mouth hangs open, but in the reverse shape to his usual grin, shocked.

" **Fair trade** ," You elaborate, holding up his hat to see with a smile of your own. Realization sparks in his eyes and you just catch the corners of his mouth turning upwards before you wave and turn away to leave.

You walk a few paces away before stopping, because darn it-

When you're about to pull something out that could have fit in a corny sports movie, you have to set the damn scene.

"Fight hard, **Future Baseball Legend.** " You look over your shoulder and give a two fingered salute, and you can barely control the grin forming on your own face as you keep walking.

…

" **THANK YOU! MAJOR LEAGE ALL-STAR!** " echoes through the night air as the stars above come out to shine.

 **[End Chapter 4]**


	5. Chapter 5: Drying A Wet Sourpuss

" _Mat-su_ " Is what the kanji in your dictionary matching the inscription on the hat reads.

The baseball cap in question, which looking back you kind-of stole since you traded without asking, was sitting on the opposite end of the small coffee table. Spread out in the space between was the sports section of the local newspaper that you were in the middle of deciphering. Every few minutes, you would swap your dictionary and notepad in your hands whenever you learned a new word, so you could write it down and commit it to memory. You were able to find out the name of the local intercity league team, but they were called "The Bears" not "The Pine Trees." Maybe the man you ran into was part of a school team? If either case was true you hope he doesn't get in trouble for loosing a piece of his uniform to an overly emotional foreigner.

You scoot back in your chair and stretch your stiff shoulder muscles; you need to join a gym or something soon. Maybe do some calisthenics at the park on nice days? It's important to maintain your physical health when your job requires a lot of sitting around. (Even if you do enjoy a fair amount of just sitting around when you're not working.)

" **Hustle, hustle. Muscle, muscle,** " You quietly repeat the odd athlete's mantra. It was catchy in a way.

The patter of rain against the window reminds you that you probably won't run into him again today, and the hum of the small electric heater reminds you that you don't **_want_** to leave the apartment anyway. You can endure the rain and you can endure the cold, separately. But together, no thank you. And while central Japan's climate will rarely ever go below freezing, the lack of central heating and insulation in almost all their residential buildings means that you will always be coming home to a cold apartment. The fact that the studio does have both those things makes the idea of an all-night shift there sound appealing actually.

Lately you've been getting by just wearing layers of clothing inside the house and out.

You are even wearing fingerless cloth gloves right now; your hands get so cold when you're not moving around; which is a pain when you are snacking because you have to take them off to keep them from getting oily.

Speaking of which…you get up and putter over to the kitchen space and retrieve a bag of shrimp chips (even though they are shaped like fries). They smell horrible but taste great, if you like seafood that is. And it's pretty hard to not at least have grown up tolerating seafood with your upbringing. Admittedly, certain foods like codfish took a long time to get a taste for. You pop open the bag with the bright red prawn on the packaging and delicately reach in for a chip. Unlike American snacks that go heavy on the flavoring, Japan seems to favor the more subtle approach…for the most part.

Munching pensively you clear some space on the table for your laptop before booting it up.

You recently joined a Facebook group for people living abroad in Japan. It was great for picking up budgeting ideas, figuring out Japan's transit system, and even getting stuff for cheep. There is this college student you connected with a few days ago concerning a small TV monitor they needed to get rid of before going back home. While a cable box came with the apartment the television screen to go with it did not. Being without TV hasn't really bothered you, thanks to the internet, but being able to listen to Japanese public broadcasting will definitely help you along with picking up the language.

They were leaving for the airport in a week so you had to figure out how you were going to get the thing to your apartment soon. You shoot them a message asking for the exact dimensions of the monitor itself and if the stand can be removed easily. Maybe you can fit it into your largest suitcase and take the train or buss back? While a car would be easier you don't want to relegate Keiko to being your chauffer, and you'd rather not spend money on a cab or rental car if you can help it.

You futz around online for a little bit, update all your social media accounts, reply to messages asking how you are from friends and family. Get something to drink from the fridge, and then go to the toilet later, just a normal rainy day weekend.

…

It was midway through the afternoon and you had to make a decision soon. Go to the local supermarket and get some good deals on meat and prepared lunches before it closes, or stay inside and go shopping on Sunday.

The rain has let up but the air is still misting with water, you notice while checking outside from the window. You've got the local paper laid out again and a few flyers from the grocers on the table. There is a sale on ground beef, and the idea of making homemade meat sauce is tantalizing. If you've got meat sauce, you've got half a meal ready! That's what mom always said.

You quickly take inventory of your pantry, there are a few spices you're missing but you think you can get those while out.

Minutes go by as you quickly swap out your thicker indoor clothes for something warm and that could fit under your rain poncho. Grabbing your umbrella, satchel and grocery bags, you head out the door, but not before reluctantly turning off your space heater while you were gone for safety's sake. You dislike the raw weather, but you would doggedly brave the elements for a plate of spaghetti.

…

The staff working near the store's entrance greet as you walk in. You nod politely and shuffle your feet on the door matt to keep water from tracking in. Supermarkets in Japan still intimidated you, even after being here for weeks now. Just something about the atmosphere and the idea of a possible confrontation with a Japanese housewife sets you on edge. You grab a small shopping cart and wheel around to the meat department to get what you came for first.

Woah! If you're reading this sign right there is a buy one-get one free deal on rotisserie chickens too. Honestly, you much prefer making sandwiches with cooked chicken than with cold cuts. You should probably get some bread from the bakery here too…and a roll of paper towels in case the chicken packaging leaks when you get home.

…

You got a little bit more than what you originally came for, but that's sort of what happens when you go grocery shopping. The lines at the registers aren't too bad, but it has certainly picked up from when you first got in. It seems like the weather hasn't deterred these fellow last minute shoppers.

A voice over the intercom reminds everyone that the store will be closing in thirty minutes, and you give yourself a little mental pat on the back for being able to understand it. The guy in front of you drags himself forward and starts emptying out his basket of cat food cans and a few bags of…are those sardines on the side of that glossy snack bag? And you thought the shrimp chips were weird.

…You kind of want to try them…

You take a couple of (what you hope are) discreet glances at the customer in front of you buying the sardine chips.

He's very purple.

The obvious reason for this being his purple sweatshirt, duh, but also he just sort of feels purple. How can you describe it…? His whole body language as he shuffles forward is just giving you this purplely vibe, like someone who is between being blue and red. His hunched shoulders, unkempt hair, and what glimpses you can get of his face are half obscured by a medical mask. The off white lighting of the store accentuates the dark circles around his eyes giving him an overall sickly appearance. If you could personify a bruise as a person it would probably look a lot like this guy.

…Wow, that was a rude thought. Shame on you, Martha.

Embarrassed, you shift focus on your cart's contents while the gentleman in front you associated with a bruise so callously gets his items checked out. The cashier tells him the total, and you can barely hear the guy mutter sourly about how the cat food cans where cheaper last week. You mentally scoff at that comment out of habit, since you once had to deal with those kinds of remarks back in the States at your old part time job. Yeah, prices tend to do that sometimes, pall, and the cashier has no control over it so…

Geez, you're in a weirdly judgey mood right now. Is the gloomy weather affecting you?

It must be, because your eyes can't help but wander back onto the purple stranger as he fumbles with a cute looking wallet in the shape of a cat's face. The stark contrast looks so oddly endearing to you that it snaps you out of your funk, and you can't help but feel a little sorry for the guy as he reluctantly returns a can of cat food to the cashier as he is a few hundred yen short.

Would it be too bold a move to spot this bedraggled looking stranger the difference? For one can, yeah probably. He could end up taking offence at your needless generosity…or misinterpret your action as a sign of interest.

(Hey there hot mess, let me help you with that can of _Fancy Feast_. Wink, wonk.)

Desperately, you try to play off the snort of laughter that just burst out as a sneeze and busy yourself with placing you items on the vacant belt. As you hear the sound of the cash register open you sneak a fleeting glance with your peripherals-SH*T HE'S LOOKING AT YOU!

A can of diced tomatoes sails out of your slackened grip and clatters loudly against the linoleum floor, making both you and the purple guy jump. You quickly duck down and grab the can before it can roll further away. By the time you stand straight again he's already shuffling out of the store, bag in hand.

…

For once you are thankful for the cold outside air as you feel the warm flush of your face fade away. You shift the weight of your bags to one hand for a moment to pull your poncho's hood up, before continuing on your way. Faint ripples could be seen in large puddles pooling at the edges of the street and dips in the sidewalk. Nothing could really be done to keep stray droplets of sparse rain from hitting your glasses' lenses aside from trying to walk underneath whatever cover you happen to pass by. There wasn't enough rain to warrant pulling out the umbrella from the satchel bag you have slung over your shoulder. Such was your sense of practicality.

Suddenly, a sports car comes barreling down the street, creating a wave of muddy rain water in its wake. You barely miss getting hit, but a choked cry of surprise from a few feet ahead meant some other pedestrian wasn't so lucky. It was so dark you could barely make out the figure standing in front of an alleyway entrance. The unfortunate soul fled into said ally to avoid another accidental soaking. Tentatively, you peer around the corner to check on them and you suddenly are struck with recognition as you spot a familiar looking backside in the gloom.

It's purple frumpy dude!

You can tell by looking at him that he's completely soaked, and unlike you he doesn't have a waterproof outer layer to keep his clothes from getting wet. A string of what are most likely curses are spat out as he tries to wipe his face with his wet sweatshirt sleeve. You remember one of your recent purchases and set your bags against the nearby wall.

The sound of shredding plastic catches purple guy's attention as he turns around to see you unrolling a length of paper towel, before tearing off a sizeable portion and holding it out for him to take.

"Here."

The mask around his mouth clings to his skin from the rain water, his face remains guardedly neutral. At his lack of response, you lean a little forward and wave the cloth as a signal for him to grab it. He doesn't. You huff, and step closer, ready to wipe his soggy face yourself at this point. He snatches the paper towel out of your hands and starts cleaning himself. Finally.

He runs one end of the towel over his hair and neck, while the other end dries the thin rivulets of water off his face. Midway through cleaning his ears he stops to scowl when he notices you're still watching him.

"Are you going to laugh at me again?" His gravely voice sounds all the more intimidating in the dark.

"What?" It takes you a while to register what he just said, but when you do you throw up your hands in panic. "No! NO! I wasn't laughing at you!" Just at the idea of flirting with you! Yeah, that would not go over well if you tried telling him that in broken Japanese (or in any language really).

"Your wallet!" You blurt out and point at the pocket you last saw it come out of.

"Huh? What's wrong with my wallet?!" Did he seriously just get even more offended by that?

"Nothing! It's uh…It's a…" You are practically withering under the intensity of this guy's glare as you lift up a shaking hand to the side of your face to form a paw and blurt out the only thing that jumped to mind.

" **C-Coin Purr~se…** " You roll your 'r's to mimic a cat purring and hope your terrible pun comes across as coherent as you dissolve into a mess of nervous chuckles and gauge his reaction.

Stunned silence wasn't the expected outcome… but you'll take it.

You breathe out another weak laugh and swing your arms as if working out stiffness in them and take a timid step back. His eyes, wide and slowly blinking behind the now thoroughly moist towel, follow you as you retreat towards your shopping bags.

You readjust your hood that fell off during the whole encounter, and pick up your groceries. "Goodnight," You feebly call out before scooting back out onto the sidewalk.

Thus concluded the second most awkward encounter you had this week.

 **[End Chapter 5]**

* * *

 **(AN)**

 **A special thank you to "kuroneki" and "Kraolia" for leaving reviews!**

 **kuroneki: I'm glad you enjoyed the Jyushi chapter, I wanted him to be the first Matsu encounter since his wacky energy is a good way to break-er I mean get someone used to the kind of antics that can happen if you were to live in any vicinity to the Matsu-bros.**

 **Kraolia: I'm glad you like my drawn out world/character building! I'm trying really hard to have Martie fit in as a character and as a hopefully accurate portrayal of a foreigner living abroad (even tho i've never been one).**


	6. Chapter 6: For Want of a Name Tag

Your phone alarm goes of for a third time before you can finally will yourself out of bed. Crawling forward, since the low sitting bed was nestled so tightly between the walls, you grab your phone off the floor and swipe it silent. The bedroom really felt more like a large closet with a tiny window, but you could get by.

After blindly feeling for a lost sock from the covers, you trundle over to the kitchen and set a pot on the stove for tea. While that's going on you start up the dormant space heater to get some heat back into the room. The little machine revs to life as you take a seat at the table where you left your laptop charging overnight.

You check your Facebook messages for any update on the TV monitor's size…

…Yeah!

Yeah, you think you'll be able to fit it into you suitcase. Great! Awesome! You shoot another message back asking if you could pick up the monitor sometime today. Since you work long hours at the studio on weekdays, it would be more convenient to be able to go back and forth from your contact's place during your free daylight hours. You'd rather not lug around a suitcase full of TV screen during the night if you can help it.

…

A cup of green tea sits to brew on the counter as you attempt to make a grilled cheese. The window closest to the kitchen is half open; somewhat defeating the purpose for turning on the heater, but for the sake of not accidently triggering the smoke detector you can handle a little cold air. The bread is slightly overcooked on one side but it's still edible. A pretty okay grilled cheese you'd say, and the room only smells a _little_ bit like burnt butter.

You periodically check on your computer for a reply as you get ready for the day. There is still no response back even after you've showered and washed your hair, but you still decide on dressing for going outside anyways. You throw on a thick neutral tone cardigan for added warmth without looking bulky underneath one of your slimmer fitting jackets. You've had friends complain about your unexciting color pallet when it comes to clothing, but eh- that's not your style. It's not like you don't wear bright colors, you just tend hide them under cozy layers. You're like a subtle color onion.

Flexing your toes underneath the table, you scroll through your news feed, pondering what to do in the meantime. The idea of getting a head start in cooking for the rest of the week crosses your mind, but you don't want to get the message to come over to pick up the TV while you're in the middle of making mom's spaghetti sauce. The clear blue sky outside looks inviting, and you haven't explored the whole neighborhood yet. But you don't want to wander too far off only to have to come back to your apartment to retrieve your luggage bag and head out again.

You take a swig of the last watery dregs of your tea, and as you set the cup back down a delightful idea comes to mind.

…

Hanging out at a café might be considered painfully cliché for an "artsy type" person such as yourself, but whatever man. So long as you can skulk in a corner with a cup-a-Joe and not be bothered, you're golden. You even thought enough to bring your mixed media sketchbook and a watercolor brush, in case you wanted to try painting with coffee. And by "wanted to try" you actually mean "felt hidden enough that you could dip your brush into your mug and not get weird looks from people."

There was this place that wasn't too far from the buss stop you've been meaning to visit; it reminded you of a Starbucks in a way (must be the logo). You just hope there is an available corner where you can hunker down out of the way. You wheel your suitcase in front of you so it doesn't get caught in the doorway as you cross the threshold. A few people close to the door glance your way, but thankfully not for too long. You probably look like you just got off the plane, lugging this thing around. Thankfully it's a lot lighter this time since it is empty.

The line to order moves pretty quick and soon you are returning a smile at the pleasant looking barista who… feels very familiar for some reason.

"Hello, what would you like to order?" The nondescript fellow in the white dress shirt and green apron asks in all politeness. You are about to place your order, but the gears in your head come to a screeching halt the moment you make eye contact.

"Uh…" you trail off, quickly trying to dismiss the sudden mental block caused by this intense feeling of déjà-vu you get from looking at this guy, " **Medium latte?** " you blurt out in English, but thankfully the language of coffee knows no borders and your server nods while he rings up your order. You hand off an appropriate amount of yen notes and he hands you an appropriate amount of change in return, his smile only faltering when he notices you staring intently at him.

"Do you… need anything else?" The slight waver in his voice snaps you out of your critical evaluation of what exactly is up with this guy and his completely average face. You were probably making him nervous with your own face. You've had friends in the past ask why you look so pissed off when you're actually just thinking really hard about something.

Sometimes your default expression can be described as a borderline scowl. You swear you are a pleasant person, though. Honest.

"N-no…excuse me, I'll just…" you struggle to fish for your next words as you snap the extendable handle flush against your suitcase (unintentionally causing the barista behind the register to flinch.) "F-find a seat…" Your choppy Japanese strains past your lips like muddy water through a sieve. Rolling your empty luggage case towards the back of the café you try to find the most out of the way vacant seat available.

Sadly the aesthetically pleasing open floor plan meant there were no pillars or walls to completely hide behind. (Curse you modern architectural designers!) There looks to be a long wall mounted table wrapped around a corner near the bathrooms, but you don't think you'd be able to sit comfortably with your suitcase occupying the limited leg room. Instead, you plant yourself at an empty table with a clear line of sight on the exit, should you need to leave in a hurry.

Once settled, you check your phone for any new messages.

Nope, nothing.

Get cozy kiddo, cuz u 'aint leavin till you finish that cup of frothy, milky, bean water. Too late to order a to-go cup, you're locked in, committed. This off brand Starbucks is your Cask of Amacchiato.

…Damn.

…That's a really good coffee pun, not gonna lie.

The knots in your stomach slowly uncurl; whatever odd feeling you got from the cashier could just as easily have been the familiarity of the situation itself. You've see plenty of young guys his age working in the various retail outlets in the city, so that could be it. You lean on your elbows against the table and tilt your head to examine your surroundings from under the brim of your gatsby cap.

It's a pretty nice coffee shop…

The wall facing the sidewalk is basically a row of tall windows letting in plenty of sunlight. Light reflects off of the clean tiled floors and tables, and despite the general décor being a various shade of brown, the place does not feel dusky at all. Which is good for you since one of your main gripes about drawing in cafés is how darkly lit they are most of the time.

Speaking of drawing there are cute chalk drawings of coffee cups and tea pots on the blackboards hanging above the store counter, props to whoever made them. As your eyes drift down you notice something fascinating beside the espresso machine, you were probably too distracted by you mission of ordering to appreciate it when you first got in.

Extending from the wall behind the counter is this sculpture of a tree with glowing faux paper lanterns hanging from a protruding branch that has this glassy amber texture to it. Okay yeah, you are going to have to draw that at some point. It's just too neat looking not to.

Luckily, looking in this direction also gives you forewarning of the same barista from earlier coming from behind the counter carrying a tray of drinks. You sit up a little straighter as he makes his rounds table to table, before he places your medium latte before you.

You tensely adjust your glasses as you breathe out a "Thank you," before reaching out and bringing the mug sitting on the small plate closer. There is an image of a leaf in the foam which brings a more relaxed smile to your face.

"Um, excuse me for asking…" You blink up at the voice of the barista as he holds the now empty tray at his side, "but is this your first day in Japan?" A genuine look of curiosity is on his smiling face as he eyes your (essentially empty) suitcase and you quietly die a little more inside.

"A-ha… It looks that way, doesn't it?" You wrap your chilly hands around the warm ceramic circumference of the mug, cheeks pinching in a tight smile. "Actually, I've been living here for… almost a month now, ha-ha." You absently rub the rim of the cup with your index finger before flicking a thumb over to your baggage. "I just…have that with me to help…carry something." You punctuate the end of your explanation with a quick sip of coffee, ignoring the heat. "It's good!" You croak out a complement despite not being able to fully enjoy the taste beyond the tingling burn on your tongue.

"Ah, is that so? Sorry for assuming," the barista rubs the back of his neck and squints his eyes shut, looking embarrassed.

"You don't have to apologize…" You open your mouth to say something else but instead just gulp a short breath of coffee scented air and smile ineptly. Your brain just…isn't really working at full capacity right now. Either that or the odd feeling from earlier is coming back with a vengeance.

At first you thought it was just his demeanor and outfit that was giving you this uncanny reaction. But now looking at him fully… from how the cut of his bangs hovers over his eyes, to how his cheeks and jaw line round out, is setting off little alarm bells in your head. You've _seen_ this guy before, but where?

You search for a nametag on his apron but see none. The ringing question of his identity is answered for you as a female voice calls over from the doors leading to the back rooms.

"Matsuno-kun, you better not be bothering that customer!"

The young man before you flinches, a look of pure mortification flashing across his face before he can barely manage a forced smile and stiff bow in your direction. You can't help but feel embarrassed for him as he retreats behind the counter, apologizing. He was just trying to make small talk; you honestly don't think that's enough to warrant any reprimand. Nor do you think it warrants the young woman to come over and check on you, and yet you inwardly sigh as she does so anyway.

"Is everything alright ma'am?"

(Please, just let me drink my coffee for pity's sake!)

"I'm fine, thank you." You glance at the chastised barista who is back behind the register with a little less energy than he had before, "Matsuno-san was very polite and helpful."

"Oh, that's a relief!"

Wow. Way to have confidence in your co-worker lady…

You are about to bring your mug to your lips for another sip, ignoring the twitch in your eye, when you are interrupted by a familiar question.

"Excuse me, but is this your first day in Japan?"

(OH COME ON!)

….

The coffee is room temperature by the time you finish the conversation with the female barista, Aida. Somehow you both ended up exchanging your LINE contact info with each other by the end of it all. Apparently, she remembered seeing you in the area a couple days ago in the park while out with her friend. She admitted to her embarrassment when you caught them staring at you, explaining that with your jacket, hat, and glasses, they thought you were some kind of female Steven Spielberg scouting a location for a film. _THAT_ comparison really threw you in for a loop, and now you can hardly remember what you two talked about during the remainder of your discussion. You just hope that you clearly explained that you weren't a famous American director's female doppelganger.

First you get mistaken for a professional baseball player and now this? Boy, Japan sure seemed to view foreigners with a glamorous lens thanks to the global media monster that was American entertainment…

Wait a minute…baseball…?

Your eyes glue themselves to the back of the male barista as you fumble with the zipper of your bag where your sketchbook was. Pencil scribbling loudly against the paper, you furiously sketch from memory the "muscle, hustle" boy from a few nights ago. You swallow thickly as you fill in the details of the face, the feeling from earlier now felt a little more justified as you glance at Matsuno-san while he rings up another customer. The only differences you can so far tell are the setting of their mouth and eyes. Matsuno the barista had a softly curving smile and dewy eyes, a face you could see on a brochure or a college website aimed at optimistic twenty year olds trying to make it in the world. The baseball player however had a harlequin grin (when not apologizing) and contracted pupils that could stare into your soul. Not exactly a face you would likely see in the food service industry…Maybe on a fast-food mascot..?

Briefly you wonder if this is too much of a seventh inning stretch for these two persons to be the same, then you remember the kanji written on the cap back at your apartment.

' _Matsu_ '

Could that be the connection, the missing link between these two estranged species of men? Before you can continue this train of thought, the beeping of you messenger app interrupts your breakthrough.

Oh hey, looks like you're going to pick up the TV around three.

Cool, you've got time to kill.

Kneading the joints of your fingers as you resume eyeing Mr. Matsuno from under your cap, you mull over a strategy to future unravel this mystery. You realize you may not have to do anything as you watch him walk over to a table to retrieve the used cup and plate left behind by a customer. While his back is still turned as he wipes down the table, you gulp down the rest of your lukewarm coffee with a grimace. With a small clink you set the mug down and slide it an inch or two opposite of your seat and prop your sketchbook between yourself and the table and feign drawing. The rush of caffeine and tension as you wait for him to pass has your hands trembling. You take a deep breath and start to actually begin to draw something to calm down.

Midway through a quick doodle of a chubby imp (that you toyed with the idea of giving a bowl cut) you hear footsteps click against the tiled floors and the sound of ceramics shifting in a plastic tub.

"May I take your dishes, Miss?" I barely hear Matsuno-san speak. He is looking over his shoulder nervously, probably not wanting to get called out again.

"Yes, thank you," Now was my chance… "Matsuno, right? Is it with same kanji as pine tree?"

"Ah?" Matsuno-san stops worrying long enough to make eye contact, with surprise etched on his face. "Yes, that's right."

"…" If you were a less self conscious person your next question would be 'Do you like baseball?' with a smirk and cocked eyebrow. Instead you fight to keep both eyebrows level along with your voice and say, "I'll remember that," with a small quirk of a smile.

"…You will?" His eyes recover that dewy sheen from before and you balk a bit at the question.

"I mean…I'll try at least?" Your memory was pretty bad at with names, but you don't think you could forget at this point.

Matsuno, however, was not deterred by your hesitance, and now you were on the receiving end of an intense gaze. Was saying that you will remember his name more than just a common curtsey to this guy? "Uh, you should probably…" you point at the tub of dirty dishes with the butt of your pencil.

"Yes. Thank you very much!" He nearly shouts like an army cadet as he bows before grabbing said container. With more pep in his step, Matsuno-san is back behind the counter. As he begins to furiously scrub the dishes in the sink, you catch sight of Aida staring at you with a sympathetic expression from behind the register.

Okay either you did something culturally wrong, or there is some kind of bad blood between those two and Matsuno-san is like the black sheep of the café. Ugh, you hate workplace drama…

You draw for the next fifteen minutes, sometimes catching Matsuno looking in your direction while you sketch the faces of café patrons. One would think you'd be freaked out by this, but you think after your encounter with baseball boy and soggy cat man you've developed a tolerance for odd behavior from Japanese men by now.

Come to think of it, cat boy also looked kinda like…

…Son of a gun…

Okay that settles it; you need some air before you go stir crazy. Even tough there is still another three hours until you pick up the TV monitor, you gather your things and head for the door. You wave to the staff behind the counter as you pass by, Aida waving back with a smile and whishing you a nice day. Matsuno-san however looks a little distraught at your sudden departure, but after side-eyeing Aida he looks to be restraining himself as he puts on a smile and waves as well.

You breathe out a sigh as the automatic doors close behind you. Checking the time on your phone before placing it in your side bag, you begin to walk towards the buss stop that will take you close to the apartments your student contact lives. Maybe there's a bookstore you can check out near there?

You absentmindedly scratch your ear and blink in the sunlight before you stop short of the crosswalk. You look down: one hand is gripping the strap of your satchel bag while the other is hovering by your head…

You turn around and jog back to the café to retrieve your forgotten suitcase.

However, just before you can get through the door someone else exits the store.

" **I'msorry** -excuseme!" You blurt out hurriedly in English switching back to Japenese midway as you step back to avoid collision. "Oh, it's you Matsuno-san."

The barista looks relieved to see that it's you as he gets out of the entryway, wheeling your empty suitcase behind him.

"You forgot this," He pats the extended handle with a wink.

"I did…" You sigh in relief as you grip the handle and tow it over to your side. "I would have been in trouble if I lost it," forgetting Japan's social norms in the moment you snatch Matsuno's hand out of the air and give it a few grateful shakes. " **Thanks, I owe you one!** "

Ignoring the lingering moisture from Matsuno's sweaty palm you reach into your satchel for your wallet and pull out enough yen for another coffee.

"Here," you hold out the money, "treat yourself after work."

Matsuno-san looks like he needs a moment to catch up with what's going on, looking like he's just run a marathon despite only walking a few feet from the café to the sidewalk. With a trembling hand he reaches for the cash. Just as his fingertips brush the edges of the bank notes, he flexes his full palm out and holds it barely an inch away from your fist full of dollars. You instinctively turn your outstretched hand over to place the money in his waiting palm and are caught off guard when he, instead of curling his fingers around the money, places his thumb against your knuckles softly gripping your hand.

Was that…a strategic move?

You analyze Matsuno's face for any ulterior motive, ready to rip your hand away if you saw the slightest hint of mischief. But all you see on his face are his big doe eyes and small mammalian-like smile, throwing off your danger sense and yet making you even more on guard.

"Um…I was wondering, since you've only had a month to settle in…" You raise an eyebrow, a silent question to what he's proposing, but Matsuno continues undaunted, "If anyone's given you a proper tour of the area yet~?" Even though your grasp on the nuances of the Japanese language is still pretty basic, you can still notice the saccharine tone of his voice when he finishes his question.

"Are you offering?" You however, are not one to mince words and you can feel him flinch and nearly let go of your hand as you cut straight to the point. Then you feel him squeeze your hand and for a second see his façade go from sweet to serious.

"Yes."

You want to laugh, not out of spite, but at the absurdity of this guy's level of control over his outward appearance. But unfortunately, you don't have that kind of control so you end up openly letting out a guffaw. Matsuno hears and looks ready to faint shamefaced as if you just shot him in the liver.

And his knees actually buckle when you answer him with: " **Okay**."

…

You have made plans for a personal tour of the town from Matsuno _Todomatsu_ next weekend. And despite his insistence for you to call him "Totty," you refused, because you are not strong enough of a person to resist adding " **Tatter** " before it.

Right now you are sitting on your couch in front of your new, used TV, receiving a list of channel recommendations via LINE. You have repeatedly had to remind Todomatsu to slow down with the onslaught of texts since you had to heavily rely on translation tools and your lexicon to keep up with the various grammatical rules of Japan. You barely have time to enjoy the television in between replying to Todomatsu's texts.

Although, you do take advantage of being able to casually ask him questions like: "What's your favorite sport?" (it was soccer) or "What's your favorite animal" (bunnies apparently.) So by the end of the night you were pretty sure Todomatsu was neither baseball nor cat boy living a double life.

Then a new conversation popped up.

It was Aida.

[Hey you didn't give Matsuno-kun your LINE info did you? (^_^;)]

…[Yes I did.]

[（ ﾟ Дﾟ）! Ooh nooo…You really should block him when you get the chance (ToT)]

You knit your brows as you type your reply, clearly put off but trying to remain neutral. You barely know either of them and you don't want to start making assumptions.

…[Why?]

[Well he might seem like a nice guy, but in reality he's a mess. (ーー;)]

[He and his brothers are unbearable slobs with no life. (*￣m￣)]

Your mouth hangs open at that. Wow.

That was really harsh. It's not like you've never seen shade get thrown around, especially between co-workers, but damn. You were not prepared.

Then you notice a new bit of information that you have yet to glean from Todomatsu.

…[Brothers?]

[Yeah, 5 of them. All with the same face…]

Your eyes widen as you translate the last word and everything makes sense.

[Sextuplets.]

…

…[Okay, thank you. I'll keep that in mind.]

[You're welcome! G'night Marti-chan~! (≧∇≦)/]

…[Good night!]

You close the messaging app and lean back against the cushions. Turning your head toward the table where the Matsu cap was still sitting, you mull over everything you know so far. So far you have (possibly) encountered three of the six young men you had seen fleeing Chibita's oden stand weeks ago. And yes, now that you think about how he briefly described them during that visit, their odd behavior actually made sense now.

But hey… if Chibita could endure their shenanigans, so could you.

You were going to have to mentally prepare yourself for this next week.

 **…(Elsewhere)…**

"Osomatsu nii-san, quit trying to grab Jyushimatsu's hat!" a young man in a green hoodie shouted as he grappled another in red.

"Come ooon! It's been almost four days and he won't even take it off, even when bathing!"

" **Major league!** " replied the one in yellow, ignoring the commotion a few seats down as he continued to scarf down his meal.

"You just want it because you think it's why Jyushimatu's been winning at pachinko."

"It has to be!"

"Seriously idjit?" Chibita looks at the fifth brother from across the stand with an incredulous look, "Not even to bathe?"

" **Major league.** " Jyushimatsu solemnly repeats as he takes a swig of beer, smacking his lips with a smile and far off look in his eyes.

"Heh," a blue clad sibling wedged in between the two warring red and green siblings on either side leans forward to turn toward his yellow brother, "it seems the stars of good fortune have been generous to you with their luminance, **bruza**."

"Ah-ha! Yeah! **Major league all-star**!" Jyushimatsu brings his bowl to his lips and slurps down the remaining oden broth. "She was really nice!"

All six young men, including Chibita, froze at that explication.

"…She?" all six asked at once.

"Ah, I said too much." Jyushimatsu lamented with a grin still plastered on his face before Osomatsu yanked him by the collar.

"YOU DIDN'T MENTION THAT IT WAS A WOMAN WHO GAVE IT TO YOU!?"

"Osomatsu!" the green sibling once again was scrambling to pry the two apart.

"Why? WHY?!" Osomatsu desperately asked as he shook his still smiling brother, "Why is it always you who has the best luck when it comes to girls?"

"Hey!" the brother in pink who was sitting at the far end on his phone gave an offended huff. "I'm the one who has the most positive interactions with women than all of you combined!"

"Yeah? And have any of them give you a hat?"

"…No."

"Then shut up!"

"All of you…die." The brother in purple slumped in his seat growled out as he starred intently at his untouched oden, one hand in a fist on the table while the other was fiddling with something in his hoodie pocket.

"Oh? And what do you have to show for, Ichimatsu?" Osomatsu lowered a dazed Jyushimatsu to loom over his other younger brother. "You've had that hand in your pocket all day. You trying to dethrone king Chorofappy?"

"Oi!" the green brother shouted over that unflattering name.

Ichimatsu hissed through his teeth, hunching forward to pin his arm securely to the cart. But that didn't stop Osomatsu.

"Ah-ha!" the red brother cried triumphantly as he tore the mystery object out of Ichimatu's possession to scrutinize. "What's this…? A paper towel?"

 ** _*SHISK!*_**

Osomatsu was suddenly writing on the ground clutching his red swelling face as Ichimatsu's cat paw morphed hand glinted in the moonlight, clutching the slightly torn disposable cloth possessively.

"None of your business!" Ichimatsu yowled.

Chibita watched with resigned dismay as the scene in front of his oden cart continued to rapidly decay into bedlam.

'Marti-san,' Chibita pleaded in his mind, 'I pray that you will never have to meet these demon brothers.'

 **[End Chapter 6]**

* * *

 **(AN)**

 **I'm back. Sorry for the wait. Been busy with life, trying not to be a NEET!**

 **Kraolia: I think I've heard 'r's being rolled in anime when character's are being "over the top" in their** **performance (If i remember correct the matsu's roll their 'r's a lot in the high-school delinquent skit.) Thank you for your review!**

 **yuki2497: ! I'm glad you like it! (*v*)**


End file.
